Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

Hello lovelies. I've been working on a longer story for you, but my brain got distracted by this dirty little two-off. This is pretty smutty smut, and also borders on non-con, depending on your read. If you want fluff or a less depressing relationship model, this may not be the story for you!



The first time they fucked was when she was begging to keep her job.

"Granger, I can't hire you on any longer," Draco said, lounging back in his leather office chair, the phrase coming out of his mouth casually as though the meaning didn't have potentially catastrophic effects. His words bounced around the gloomy office as the reality hit her. She stared at him.

He had gotten taller in the years since school, his jawline hard and his nearly-white hair now parted to the side and falling in his eyes. A slick Italian suit had taken the place of black robes, a shiny gray, like the colour of wet cobblestone. He always looked angry. He almost always was, at least around her. Right now was no different. Mouth set in a thin line. Eyes deceptively disinterested. One loud crack of his knuckles. "You can finish the week, but then you're gone."

Her ability to breathe seemed to have vanished, and she dropped her stack of files in shock, immediately regretting her clumsiness because of the sheer melodrama it leant to the situation. Now was not the time to break apart. Now was the time to deal. Too many lives were on the line. She bent down to scoop the papers up, her brain running on overdrive. This couldn't be happening. They had a mutually beneficial arrangement. He needed her... Didn't he?

"What?" she said, delayed, cringing at her weak response as she stood back up with the messy folders. Weakness was not an option right now. This job meant everything. Yes, the money was crucial, but so was the information she got by working here. There was no way around it. In this case, losing her job might actually mean losing the War.

Every last penny of her salary went to the Order. It paid to feed them, clothe them, equip them for missions, and make it so that the members, all twenty of them, could spend their time tracking Voldemort's movements instead of holding down meaningless desk jobs to get by. They all lived together in Headquarters, Hermione included, using cots to make enough space in the old musty rooms. Food was scarce and the portions were tiny. It was a difficult situation, but one they all dealt with as gracefully as they could. After all, if Voldemort were to regain full control of the Ministry, it would be much worse. They would probably all be dead.

She could not lose this job.

It was amazing enough that she was able to work in a time where Muggleborns were deemed practically unemployable. Her training in magical law made her an asset after most of the Ministry's lawyers were murdered and dumped in a public grave, one massacre in a long line of massacres designed to spread fear. It worked like a charm. Apparently Voldemort took issue with the fact that the Ministry was trying to pass strict new limits on the uses of Dark Magic. Suddenly, Hermione found herself very much alone in a field where she had once been surrounded by peers. Most everyone of her status had fled, knowing they would never live freely even if they did find work.

But in came Malfoy's offer of employment, the most obvious of Trojan horses, and she responded with an equally stealthy deception. Why not? She had access to the enemy and they had access to her. Dangerous, but worth every second so far. The company dealt with investments and international magical trade, but she knew who was at the top. This was family run, through and through.

She could not lose this job.

"What?" he imitated cruelly, a dark smirk on his face. "You heard me Granger. No more job. You've been useful, but not useful enough. It's too much work to keep you here."

There was a lot he wasn't saying, she knew. He may be the head of Malfoy Enterprises, but only because Lucius was too busy with his duties as a senior Death Eater. The patriarch still held a huge amount of sway here, and he had always wanted Hermione nailed to the door to set an example. Lucius had never understood Draco's desire to have her employed with the company, raging about his son's ineptitude every chance he got.

Luckily for her, Draco held his ground, although not out of the goodness of his heart. The arguments between him and his father were supposed to be private, but Hermione had become a masterful eavesdropper. Not that she even had to bother anymore. It was always the same. Lucius ranted about the fact that she was still alive, saying it was unacceptable that his organization pay the salary of "Potter's Mudblood" year after year. Draco countered, saying that she was worth far more to them alive and under their supervision. That she was valuable. That she could offer them things that other employees couldn't.

Her worth, however, had little to do with her skills in law. After all, the company knew exactly what she did outside work. They knew she was an Order member. They knew everything about her.

Or at least, they thought they did. They got one thing right: she was most certainly a deeply loyal member of the Order. The rest was a particularly creative lie.

When she got the job working at Malfoy Enterprises, the Order decided not to take any chances. Her new employers were going to mine her for information, with or without her consent. It was a fact. It was most likely the reason they were hiring her in the first place, and they were not naive enough to expect otherwise. Hermione's thoughts were going to be a target. There was no way they would be able to resist. Sure enough, every now and then at work, Hermione would feel her mind tingle. Malfoy was always nearby when it happened. She pretended not to notice, secretly in awe that he could scan her thoughts from halfway across the room. If she hadn't been so vigilant, she might not have noticed the strange feeling and passed it off as nothing. Luckily, she knew exactly what was going on.

So instead of attending Order meetings, Hermione kept her distance. She interacted minimally with her friends, reading in the attic at Headquarters when anything interesting was happening. To make sure she remained attractive to her employers, Tonks would occasionally plant false memories in Hermione's mind, enough to make it seem like she was an active member of the group, but the details were pure invention. Sometimes they would take a risk, planting information about an upcoming raid. The Order would show up long enough to let the Death Eaters see them, and then flee. The game was never-ending, and the memories were extremely foggy. Hermione knew some things for certain; the fact that Harry was closer than ever to finding out Voldemort's location, for example. But the rest was a clever deceit, real enough to seem useful, but not real enough to endanger the Order's work.

They had been getting away with it for years now, giving just enough information to make Hermione's employers think they were getting a look at the inner workings of a secret society, when in fact they were allowing Hermione to continue working in the lion's den, funding the Order and keeping a close watch on the enemy. She was using them just as they were using her. She listened in on their conversations. She kept an eye out for suspicious activity and noted when Lucius came and went. It had saved her friends more than once.

But it was risky, both for Hermione's mind and for her life. Eventually Malfoy and his cronies would tire of it, feeling ripped off that her memories didn't give them something more. She knew he had been under pressure of get rid of her, but so far she had been lucky. He still seemed to believe they were getting something useful out of her, otherwise she wouldn't still be employed.

Perhaps he had changed his mind.

"Malfoy," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Please don't do this. I really need the work."

He snorted and looked at her with disdain. "Of course you do, Granger. Everybody needs work. But I'm not a fucking charity - I need results if I'm paying you for something. Lately I find your work to be... Lacking."

She thought back frantically to her activities over the past month. She'd been even busier than normal, her workload oppressively heavy and almost impossibly challenging. But her deadlines had all been met, her files had all been taken care of, and she was very nearly on the other side of it. Her work, by any rational measure, had been exceptional.

He must be referring to her memories then. He must have finally reached the point of not getting enough information and being unable to justify her continued employment to his father. Trouble was, she couldn't even hint that she knew, or she'd be murdered on the spot. What else could she give him to make him keep her here? There was literally nothing she had that he would want. She shared her home with nineteen other people. She magicked her two sets of work clothes to look different every day so that nobody realized where her money was going. She lived to help her friends bring down Voldemort, and she was willing to die to see it be done. She had nothing Draco needed, nothing that could bribe him to let her stay.


No. She actually flinched at the scene that flashed across her eyes, of Malfoy pressing her down on the desk, face against the wood, and lifting her skirt. It had never happened, but maybe it could. She had the tiny advantage of having seen the way he eyed her that time when her blouse shifted enough to expose the lace of her bra. She'd caught his eyes wandering up her legs the odd time she wore a skirt above the knees. The thought had always made her feel sick and angry, leaving her endlessly grateful that he had never forced himself on her. It was surprising, really, that none of his Death Eater colleagues had tried anything. She was not in a position of power here. It would have been all too easy for them. For some reason, she remained untouched.

But now? What if that was her one bargaining chip? What if her body was the only thing she had left? Would he even be tempted, or would he just laugh her off? Would he take it and then fire her regardless? There was no way to know.

And besides... Could she even go through with it? Trade her body to keep this job? She thought back to what some of her friends had given up for the cause. Their limbs. Their sanity. Their lives. Was giving up her body really that horrifying in comparison? It would keep the Order fed, and make sure they had the supplies they needed to hunt down Voldemort until they found him. It would be sex with a purpose. Sex with a time limit. A means to an end.

She eyed him through her heavy bangs, thinking hard about the options in front of her. They were all bad. Humiliating, soul-killing, and dangerous. But she had to try. If she tested the waters with him, there would be no going back. There was one way to get the message across that would gage his interest. One way that could go horribly wrong should he take it in any direction but the one she had in mind.

Jesus Christ she was scared, but these were desperate times.

A nursery rhyme popped into her head, and she let her mind turn the words over and over like a calming mantra. Anything to distract her from what she was about to do.

Curly Locks, Curly Locks,

Will you be mine?

"Malfoy?" she said, putting her files back down slowly, being careful to lean down sharply enough to show the curve of her breast in the dip of her blouse. Her hands were shaking, but she continued.

You shall not wash dishes

Nor feed the swine

He looked up with narrowed eyes, suspicion clouding his features. She shivered as the drafty cold of the office began to sink in, rubbing her arms to keep the chill away. She felt her nipples harden against the fabric of her bra.

"What, Granger?"

But sit on a cushion

And sew a fine seam

"I'll do anything," she said, giving him a look she hoped he understood. "Anything to keep the job."

And sup upon strawberries,

Sugar, and cream.

The first time they fucked was rough and hard. He pushed her back against the desk with a hungry smirk, pulled down her knickers, unzipped and thrust his way in without so much as a grunt of warning. She let out an anguished cry as he began to pump into her, not even bothering to remove their clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of the nursery rhyme, focusing on the phrasing as though it could lift her mind out of the hell she found herself in.

Curly Locks, Curly Locks,

Will you be mine?

You shall not wash dishes

Nor feed the swine

He held onto her hips and upped his speed, her insides on fire from being too dry. It stung. Every thrust felt like an attack. She thought of libraries. She thought of her parents' home. She thought of Honeyduke's.

But sit on a cushion

And sew a fine seam

He was panting and looking down at where their bodies met, her legs spread painfully wide. She felt like she might die of shame. How had her life come to this? Tears began to run down her cheeks, but she kept quiet. If she messed this up, she would be in a much worse place.

And sup upon strawberries,

Sugar, and cream.

Suddenly he pulled out, releasing his seed onto her bare thighs with a shudder. There was a moment's pause. He zipped up and smirked again.

"I should have threatened to fire you years ago, you filthy little swot. See you at work tomorrow, Granger."

She arrived back at Headquarters that night looking tired and drawn, her cheeks sticky from tears. Luckily for her, this wasn't an uncommon way for her to look after coming back from the office.

"Tough day?" Tonks said, apologetically.

Hermione nodded quietly.

"Maybe tomorrow will be better. Harry's sent word. He and Neville are okay so far."

The news lifted her spirits some. Tonks always kept the updates vague, but at least she knew there was progress.

"Chin up Hermione," Tonks smiled. "Remember, you keep us all going. We appreciate everything you do."

The second time they fucked was the very next day. It hurt to sit down at her desk, so she was taking the excuse to stand up by filing her cases by hand. Every time she slid a folder into a slot, she cringed. Only four hundred files to go.

He came in without knocking, locking the door with a wave of his wand and killing the overhead lights. In four long strides, he was right behind her. She froze.

Strong hands were on her thighs, traveling upwards, pulling her skirt up to her waist. Her knickers were tugged down.

"I don't know why you bothered wearing these," he whispered into her ear with a sinister smile. Fingers found her opening and thrust in.

"Dry, princess?" he said, sounding oddly disappointed. Before she could respond, he cut in. "Too bad."

He bent her over and made quick work of it. She only made it through the rhyme twice before he pulled out and came on the milky white skin of her arse.

"See you Monday, Granger," he said, zipping back up and leaving her as she sunk to her knees, wracked by sobs.

She spent the weekend holed up in the attic, reading everything she could get her hands on. When her eyes were skimming over the words, her mind wasn't replaying anything but the plot. The feeling of him inside of her was a distant memory. The soreness between her legs was a dull pain.

Five books and three magazines lay finished by her bed when she fell asleep Sunday night.

On Monday, Hermione came to work to find a bottle on her desk. There was a dark blue liquid inside with a note attached.

Drink this before you see me this afternoon, it read. She examined the label.

Contraceptive. Protection from disease and pregnancy. To be taken once a month. Will pause a witch's cycles.

Did that mean she would be employed for at least another month? The thought gave her a spark of hope when she thought about what the Order could accomplish in that timeframe. She spark fizzled out quickly when she realized that she might be called to his office every day of the week until this arrangement came to some sort of close.

The fact that she had known what she was getting into didn't dull the sense of dread that was building in her stomach. Before she lost her nerve, she uncorked the bottle and chugged the potion. It tasted like elderberry. Her stomach felt warm. She wondered briefly what it was doing to her, and then distracted herself with a stack of documents. Really, it was better not to know.

The third time they fucked was that very afternoon, but it didn't go as planned. He pushed her against a wall this time, hiking her up on his hips and thrusting in with her legs wrapped tightly around him. He began to pound into her as she started reciting her nursery rhyme in her head.

Curly Locks, Curly Locks,

Will you be mine?

Wait. Something was wrong. This position left her clit exposed, and he was hitting it with every thrust. A tingling started to spread between her legs.

No! Not allowed!

Panic started to build in her throat. Her body could not betray her like this! Her job was to stay passive. His job was to finish quickly. She was not allowed to get any pleasure from this arrangement. He was the enemy, remember?

You shall not wash dishes

Nor feed the swine

The tingling continued to spread. She tried thinking about the War, about the friends she had lost. Ron had gone missing four years ago. She clung to his memory, praying that her body not tip her over the edge.

But sit on a cushion

And sew a fine seam

A whimper escaped her lips. His head jerked up, a curious expression on his face. It was the first time he hadn't looked angry since she was first hired here. He picked up speed.

The tingling continued to spread.

And sup upon strawberries,

Sugar, and cream.

A wave of pleasure erupted at her core, jolting her hard against the wall. She gasped as her passage tightened around his cock.

Sugar, and cream.

He exploded inside of her.

Sugar, and cream.